She had lost her sense of direction, and was among unfamiliar streets. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. We must wave our hands at the blue hills far away there and go back to London and work. He renewed his supplications to Sharples, but with no better success than heretofore; and the greater part of the night was passed by him and the poor widow, whose anxiety, if possible, exceeded his own, in the most miserable state imaginable. And there was no intimation whatever that the blinds would ever go up or the windows or doors be opened, or the chandeliers, that seemed to promise such a blaze of fire, unveiled and furnished and lit. As Wood obeyed, his foot slipped; and, casting his eyes upon the floor, he perceived it splashed in several places with blood. Once she stopped in front of a mirror and looked at herself thoughtfully.
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